Aftermath of a Natural Disaster
by Notemaker
Summary: HR fic with a bit of Catherine in there.
1. Chapter 1

**Ok this is thanks to a 19 hour bus ride...well not all of the 19 hours but had I not boarded that bus a few of the fics I will be posting would not have happened...still i dont recomend using it as a way to write fic...too bumpy!**

**Disclaimer: I dont own them and it makes me sad ...but in hindsight its probably a good thing.**

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I recognised her as soon as she walked in. She was linked on the arm of a man I didn't recognise. She looked prettier than I remembered. Her hair is longer and it's got a natural wave it lacked when it was shorter. Her eyes look brighter too, glistening with laughter as he pulls the seat out for her.

She doesn't know me so I'm free to observe her. She's a cautious person though I can tell, she'd spot a spook a mile off. Who in her situation wouldn't? Growing up in the environment she did? Secretive, hostile?

She's achieved international recognition since I last saw her. Awards left right and centre, she really is extrodinary. I know because I've followed her journey in the news, watching, reading, hoping. Yes hoping. Hoping there would be a mention just a name or a reference or a quote. Nothing. I suppose it's easier to name drop an English teacher than a Section Head in MI5! the press probably think he's dead or just estranged. What news that would be! An expose on a top MI5 official as the father of rebel journalist and film director Catherine Townsend.

I turn back to the rest of my group. They havn't even noticed I was distracted so I let my self indulge in a little surveillence excercise. Not my forte but it's not exactly a hard mission to fulfill tonight.

We finish our meal before them and I decided half way through the main course I had to speak to her. They ask me to join them at a bar down the road but I excuse myself saying I'm just going to go home and I'll see them Monday. I excuse myself to the bathroom to work out exactly what I'm going to say.

This is so daunting when it shouldn't be. She doesn't know me. I'll just intoduce myself tell her I admire her and knew her father once and hope she tells me he's fine and doing well. But do I really want to know? What if its not good news? I decided bad news is better than not knowing at all.

I take a deep breath and walk back out. She's just standing up to take her jacket from the waiter. Good timing. She walks towards the door and I catch her elbow just in time and fix a smile I hope is flattering and hides my nerves. She smiles back waiting to here what I have to say, taking me in, she scanns me subtuly and a flash crosses her face but she quickly hides it. She would have made a good spook. I extend my hand and tell her my name. I manage not to stutter and it all goes exactly to plan. I tell her I've followed her work, her eyes brighten and she thanks me, then I say I knew her father and her expression changes altogether. That flash that crossed her face is back. She turns to her friend and asks if she can meet him in half anhour. He nodds and places a light kiss on her cheek. Then she pulls me out of the door.

We walk in silence for a few metres, out of ear shot.

"I thought I recognised you." She says. I turn to her, how could she know me? "My father has a photograph of you in his office. Who are you?" I tell her my name, my new name and she wrinkles her nose. She can tell it's a lie. With all my training I should be able to convince her.

"If you knew my father what are you doing in New Orleans?"

"I live here now. Your father once tried to convince me that Paris was the place to be. I tried it but I couldn't stay there too many memories so I decided this was the next best thing. They needed people after Katrina."

"What happened between you two?" she asks as she directs me into a small anonymous bar. I wait to start my story untill we're sat at the back in a dark alcove, drinks in hand.

When I finish we sit in silence while she takes in what I've told her. I relayed every event: When I began in Section D, when I fell for him, when we realised the attraction, my memories of him, the work, the people, the conversations, my thoughts and feelings. I told her how I stupidly couldn't stand the gossip, about Maudsley and how he tried to save me, about the docks and our goodbye, how it almost worked out and how ultimatly it couldn't. I tell her everything, lay it out in front of her. I still love him and she can tell as the tears roll silently down my cheeks. Even in the smokey darkness they glisten.

She spends the rest of the evening telling me about him. About their relationship, about her mother and their marriage, how he cuts himself off from the world now, working ever spare minute. The greater good he tells her. It hurts to here how with drawn and bitter he's become but theres a strange comfort there, I'm not the only one hurting.

We talk for hours and are asked to leave the bar. As we stand outside bracing against the cold we are silent. I don't think either of us really know where to go from here so she asks for my number and as I turn to walk away I have a horrible feeling shes planning something.


	2. Chapter 2

**Again sorry its taken so long xx**

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My phone is ringing in my ear but I really don't want to move my head. The last few days I have been on edge. The covers are warm around me, my pillow soft against my face. I don't want to move and start another day filled with anxiety, watching over my shoulder, scrutinising the face of everyone I see. The sun is leaking through the blinds and my eyes are adjusting to the light, spots across the ceiling playing over the patterned tiles.

I love this room, its high ceilings the pattern of the railings across the window and I love more than anything the bed, its fitted posts and the drapes either side. It came with the apartment or I would never have been able to afford it.

Today is a huge day, my newest exhibition. When I first came here I worked, it's not what most people expect me to do, but I worked on rebuilding the houses that had been destroyed. I found amazing warmth here, a need for people, I felt wanted like I hadn't since that day. It wasn't the same but it filled a small hole. Eventually the majority of the work was done and the people who hadn't left tried to find jobs once again. A lovely young woman I'd met when rebuilding part of the city library put me in contact with a man from the art museum, she said that my classical background might be needed and it defiantly was. He met with me and gave me a job almost immediately; he had been curator there for thirty five years and said he had never heard enthusiasm like mine. He generously gave me a grant and told me to create an exhibition that would educate the people. I did and they came, mainly tourists but a few locals who had heard about it, they seemed to enjoy it so he kept the funding coming. This one is on the art of the French renaissance, fitting for a city so grounded in French culture.

My cats are stalking the counter tops in my kitchen, Elpis and Oranus. A little more complicated than Fidget but just as fitting. I feed them and take my shower, every morning the same routine, even now in a different life. I keep no remnants, its too risky, both for being discovered and for my mental health. I kept a photo, from a birthday party for Malcolm, the whole gang, he is next to me but not touching, I can see now the tension emanating but there is excitement also. There's not a day I don't think about it but it gets easier as the days pass.

I pour my coffee into my cup and pull on a cardigan because its a little cool outside. My street connects to the main street, with the one round about in the city, i always chuckle at the confusion it brings to driving over here. Within five minutes I've reached Bourbon Street, there are still beads from Mardi Gras a few weeks ago. They never leave; there is always something to celebrate here since the depression they felt a few years ago. A few more back streets and I can pick up a copy of the Guardian from the only shop here that sells an British newspaper, I used to read it in the hope I would read something, anything that would give me a clue but now I just like to keep up with international events. Its nice to remember there is a world outside my own.


End file.
